


Frugal

by lye_tea



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lye_tea/pseuds/lye_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A good hunter utilizes all the parts. Hannibal & Abigail</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frugal

** Frugal **

He kills with a precision that aches, sways as it returns for a second preview. When he has finished his inspection—his reconnaissance of ages—only then does he allow the curtains to be drawn back.

"Red," says Hannibal with finality. "Only red will do for an opening show."

Reluctantly, Will switches for the tie Hannibal has offered. Red. For blood. For heart and courage (and all the other organs he was born bereft).

"It suits you."

Will swivels around, looping the silky tail halfway through. Abigail studies him attentively. Lips pinched and drained of color. She gives him a smile stolen from corpses.

\--

Sometimes, he suspects that Will suspects, that he knows what is already known to be true but remains unsaid. And other times (his head thinking straight) he is confident that Will is still blind. Will is a coward. A naïve and beautifully noble coward. And cowards (deduced after years of experience) make the best entrees.

And so, when the time comes, he will savor it. Because surely, like all expensive wines and sand-papery cheeses, the wait is what makes it delicious.

\--

Abigail (blessed in her ignorant grace) seems to have a knack. A natural talent, if one were so presumptuous. She handles the carving knife with alacrity and adroitness. Unparalleled—but for his own.

"How does it look? I know it's not as good as when you do it, but I think it's presentable at least."

Hannibal grants his approval. She has the kidneys glistening and singing at their best. Ripe, acrid, and tangy. Dribbled over with a light raspberry vinaigrette. You see, when the meat is perfect (fresh for the killing), it doesn't require much seasoning. Its flavor speaks alone.

"What next?" he quizzes her.

She smiles, braver this time. Slowly, assuredly, she stages the knife for the second slice. "You're right. It's all in the execution."

He whimpers back the urge to applaud.

\--

Under his tutelage, she learns to be frugal.  _Waste not, want not_.

She opens her mouth, closes her eyes, and waits for the familiar iron taste to engulf. Thirty-years, medium-raw, just enough for a little pink. Pink is good. Pink solidified as an emblem of her (their) triumph.

\--

The nightmares appear less and less.

Hannibal is pleased. She is progressing quicker than even he expected. And Dr. Bloom is pleased as well, but her reasons are so much more insipid and plebian. He will kindly excuse her lack of refinement in this regard.

To celebrate darling Abigail's steadfast recovery, he invites the good doctor to dinner. She will accept; she is a terrible cook.

\--

"What do you dream of, Abigail?"

"I don't know…it changes every night. I can't remember. All I know is I wake up screaming."

\--

Proudly, he looks on as she makes her first official kill. (The previous, the one with the lipid-infested boy, he loathes remembering such unpleasantness.)

He accepts her offering of heart, lungs, kidneys, pancreas, and liver. Particularly the last. Fattened liver (years of MacDonald's and beer) is excellent: braised with mustard seeds and sprinkled with green onions. Perhaps he will begin teaching her how to cook.

"Was that good?"

"Wonderful," he responds, brushing away the splattered blood on her cheek. "Next time, use a little less force. No mess, that way."

She nods solemnly, eyes glassy and breath heavy.

 _Waste not, want not_.

 


End file.
